


Calories and Men

by ScrabbleSense



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Anorexia, Bulimia, Canon Gay Relationship, Child Abuse, Drugs, Eating Disorders, M/M, gay kids tm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-05-03 17:06:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14573586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScrabbleSense/pseuds/ScrabbleSense
Summary: Just eat.





	Calories and Men

No matter where John went, two ungodly things trailed him.

Calories and men.

To anyone else, he sounded undoubtedly insane. He didn’t blame them. He’d heard the same things at home since his mother died. He was a freak and he knew it.

Calories and men.

That was what he was afraid of.

Wherever he went, his sins crawled on his back like spiders, inching their way up towards his brain. They clouded his head until he couldn’t feel anything, or until he could feel everything.

Some days, he did stupid things.

He would sit on the edge of his bed, staring at the little orange bottle of anti-depressants, wondering if it was worth not swallowing the whole thing. They’d probably only notice he was gone when his father came into the room – drunk and ready to beat whatever was closest until it begged for forgiveness, knowing it did nothing wrong.

John knew. He usually was the ‘It’.

Sometimes, the stupid things he did even become routine.

Shoving his fingers down his burning throat until he saw black dots to make his ribs more noticeable; running up and down the stairs until he passed out because he’d had an egg for breakfast; lying to his family about why he was so thin; lying to his friends about why he had so many bruises.

He couldn’t remember when it had started. The purging; the men; the beatings.

Probably sometime after his mother had died.

She had been a loving, kind woman. Her eyes matched Johns – brown as tree-bark with a thousand words behind them. His father wasn’t around much when she had been alive; ‘ _Officer in the Air Force_ ’, she’d told people, ‘ _Doesn’t have much time for me or the kids_ ’.

And then he’d dropped the basketball he’d been playing with. And it rolled out into the street. And he’d waddled out, trying to get it. And then there was a scream, the loud sound of a car’s tires squeaking against the pavement, and the yell of his name. He was pushed into the lawn on the side of the road, the tire-squeaking got closer, and then there was a thud.

But John couldn’t remember much after that.

It was enough, though. He had to concentrate at night if he wanted to sleep without seeing the limp body of his mother, her hair covering her face, blood dripping from a gash in her head. The way his neighbor screamed – the heart monitor in her room making a weird beeping noise until it stopped. He didn’t understand – nobody should’ve expected him too. He was just a boy.

But somebody did.

Actually, no. That somebody didn’t expect him to know what he did. They  _blamed_  him for it.

Henry Laurens, Sr. The man himself.

A burning rage was set in John’s body whenever that name crossed his mind. A burning worse than the one in his heart – worse than the one in his throat – worse than the one in his mind.

“But sir, I- I don’t… I don’t need to go.” He whimpered from across the table one night after dinner. His siblings had all wandered off to bed, but he was told to stay. He knew what he was in for the moment his father said his name, freezing him to the spot and making his heart thump against his ribs.

“They’ll fix you, Jack. I can’t believe, after all I’ve given you, I wasn’t enough to put you back on the path of God. No son of mine will be subjected to that…  _perverted_  agenda.” His father snarled, taking a swig of whatever was in his flask.

“I’m not… You  _know_  I’m not…”

“A  _faggot_?! You can’t even say what you are, can you? I didn’t raise a  _pathetic homo_ ,  _Jack_.” His father got to his feet.

Anger boiled inside of John, forcing him to stand and meet his father’s gaze.

“I’m not a faggot!” He hated how the word felt on his tongue, but he would rather die than let his father talk shit on him.

“You’re entering dangerous territory, boy. Now go upstairs before you regret it.”

“No!” He screeched back, tears threatening to fall.

“ _Jack_ -”

“You don’t scare me.” That was a lie. John was absolutely terrified of his father, especially now that they were alone.

But this was all he had. The only redeeming feature of getting beat senseless. John had promised himself a long time ago that he wouldn’t let his father get the satisfaction of hurting him over grades or something stupid. No, if he was going to beat him, it would be because John had wound him up.

It was always satisfying to see that scowl pass over his father’s face. John had learned to expect what was coming next.

But today it seemed that he had severely underestimate how riled up and intoxicated his father was.

His father was on his feet in an instant, anger blinding him as he swung his fists at his son, drawing blood on his freckled cheeks and flowering bruises along John’s spine. At some point – John couldn’t remember when – John fell to the floor, and his father had taken to digging the sharp tip of his boot into John’s unnaturally protruding spine, scratching at his ribs after practically ripping his son’s shirt up to get at his skin. John wailed under the attacks, elbows and knees knocking gracelessly against the wall that kept him from running.

Screams ripped their way from his chest, paining his heart and grating at his throat to produce – but if the idea of someone hearing was even a possibility, he’d scream until he bled. His father simply kicked the steel-toed tip of his boot into the back of John’s curly-haired head, drawing blood but silencing his son.

“Pl- Please… Stop…” John wasn’t sure if his whimper even reached Henry’s ears, yet got confirmation as a sickening smirk spread across his father’s face. “Please, I-  I’m so- sorry, p- please.”

Henry backed off, roughly wiping an arm across his mouth, wiping the excess alcohol and spit from around his lips. John’s arms shook dangerously as he pushed himself up, resting on his hands. Something warm trickled down to his lip, and the tangy, metallic taste of blood rang through his mouth.

Slowly, John stood

“You’re pathetic, Jack.” His father spat, a wad of spit flying from his mouth and landing on John’s already-bruised cheek. He didn’t dare wipe it off.

“Father-”

A slap resonated through the room, but John could barely feel the sensation of the stinging over his cheek.

“And you’re no son of mine.” He snarled.

“Sir?”

John was yanked up by the hair, roots burning under the sensation as his knees slacked; falling slightly and making his scalp hurt more.

“Get out of my house, Jack.” He snarled, burning eyes inches from his son’s face; lips curled up in a snarl and teeth bared menacingly.

John did nothing but return a sob, falling to the ground ungracefully as his father let go, retreating back into his study for the night.

~//~

“Alex? Open the window.” The knock on the window was the only warning Alex got for John’s voice to suddenly fill his small room. The skinny boy jumped at his friend’s knock, swiveling in his chair and practically falling out of it at the surprise. John only gave him a tired, goofy smile as he watched his boyfriend cross the room grumpily, unlatching and opening the window to let the shivering, taller boy in.

“Jesus H, Laurens, it’s fucking freezing outside!” Alex gave a shiver at the blast of cold air that filled his room, brought in behind his stumbling, gangly boyfriend. It took John a few steps after stumbling inside to regain his spinning head, cold slowly melting off his skin as the warmth of Alex’s home enveloped him.

Alex didn’t like the way he just stood in the center of his room; eyes screwed shut, body falling slightly with only his leg moving behind him to steady him, hands tight around his upper arms.

He was so skinny, bruises tainted up his jaw bone… Alex sighed, shutting the window tight.

“You’re telling me.” John gave another tired smile – albeit, this time a little more energetic – wiping his nose on his sleeve quickly and shaking the cold off him with a shiver.

“Cold out there?” Alex joked, trying not to notice how thin John’s shirt was, especially in this weather.

“Climbed up your fire escape, fuckin’ metal, ain’t it – shit’s practically frozen.” John sniffed, moving to sit on the bed as he wiped his nose again. “Could barely get the ladder down.”

John held out his palms to the smaller teen, showing two, rusty-colored lines across his skin. Alex’s eye went wide, but before he could take John’s hands, John retracted them, stuffing them back in his jacket.

“Doesn’t that hurt?” Alex asked quietly, watching John pull a lighter from his jacket-pocket, along with a long, thin cigarette from his jeans. When he didn’t respond, Alex tried again, chewing his lip. “Aren’t you… Cold?”

John barked a laugh, letting out a warm puff of white smoke. “You’re full of questions aren’t you?”

Alex chewed his lip again, fiddling with his thumbs as his mouth filled with the tang of blood. “I’m… Sorry.”

John let his head fall back against the wall, Adam’s apple unnaturally pronounced as he swallowed; Alex’s eyes following it as it bobbed. John let his eyes flutter shut gently, taking another drag of the cigarette and opening his eyes to stare blankly at the ceiling.

“Not you. Sorry, I’m just… Stressed.” John sighed, sitting up to face his boyfriend, crossing his legs and putting the cigarette out on Alexander’s bed-post, throwing it on the ground. “Dad had another… Episode.”

Alexander nodded gently, slowly moving to press the tip of his beat-up, black converse against the tip of the glowing cigarette. John set his hands in his lap, closing his eyes once again.

“Arm check?”

John’s lips twitched slightly, the corners tipping up just slightly into a smile. “If you want my shirt off that badly, be my guest.”

Slowly the boy shed his thin – too thin – sweater, as well as his shirt underneath, and Alex’s lips pursed gently. John only smiled at him, giving a small laugh with half-lidded, exhausted eyes as he stood up, stretching out his arms to show off fading red scars, healed white scars, and pink scars, somewhere in the middle ground.

Alex’s eyes followed John’s twirl below worried-knitted eyebrows, beautiful, brown irises following tan skin. Alex sighed when John pursed his lips at him, his face screaming ‘Happy?!’ as he shrugged angrily, flopping back onto the bed.

“Do I… Have to check anywhere… Else?” Alex asked slowly, rubbing the back of his hand with his thumb anxiously. John only shrugged his bare shoulders slightly, tucking his hands under the side of his face, turning his head away from Alexander.

Alex felt tears spring to his eyes at the way John’s shoulder blades moved; sharp as glass under his skin, like a mountain, with a peak that would cut through his tan flesh one of these days. His breathing was irregular and labored, but without his shirt on, Alex could see where his beyond-flat stomach touched the soft bedsheets.

The curve of his ribs was disgusting, making Alex’s stomach churn like hell. If his shoulder-blades were mountains, his ribs were caves; concaved without touching the bedsheets, creating a small alcove out of his own body.

“Where?” Alex whispered – voice hoarse and quiet.

John only shrugged again, moving a hand down to gently tap on his thigh.

“Thighs?”

John nodded, returning his hands to his face, readjusting his head to sleep on them like a pillow. Alexander doubted they could be comfy. From what he could see, his hands were almost nothing but bone – the skin thin and cold on his palms, his fingers like sticks.

“Is it clean?”

“There as clean and I am straight.” John sighed, turning to lie on his back and stare at the ceiling. John huffed a small sigh, and closed his eyes again.

“I… What’d he do this time, baby?” Alex crawled onto the bed, setting up pillows for John to lie comfortably back on, curling up next to the unnaturally-thin teen. Alex didn’t like the way John shivered against him.

“Said I wasn’t his son. Called me a faggot.”

Alex nodded. “You’re staying here tonight.”

John was quiet for a long time before Alex spoke again.

“You’re staying here for… Longer?” Alex asked.

“You don’t want me to stay? ‘Cuz I won’t if-”

“No! No, no Johnny, I’d love you to stay here! I just… What did he… Say?” Alex bit his lip, entwining his hand gently in John’s, hating how the bones felt under his touch.

“Threatened to… Send me back.” John shrugged, looking away quickly, sniffing again and wiping his nose. “Ah fuck… You got any tissues?”

“Why?”

“Nose… Bleed.” Was all John could say before a tissue was pressed to his nose, his mouth ripe with the tang of blood.

Alex sighed. “If you would eat you wouldn’t get nosebleeds.”

John snickered, nose obviously clogged, before coughing madly; each wheeze shaking his bones something awful.

“Can’t.” Was all that came out of his mouth, his body heaving with labored breaths. Alexander hated how out-of-breath John was from simply coughing.

“I… I know.” Alex nodded. “I know, baby.”

“Can I stay here? For tonight?”

Alex nodded, clicking the light next to his bed off carefully and snuggling up closer to his boyfriend in the dark.

“Of course Johnny. You can stay here forever if you need to. But promise me two things.”

“Anything for you, Alex.”

“We clean those wounds tomorrow. And then we have a nice breakfast, okay? Martha makes the best pancakes in the world, I swear… Whatta you say?”

John was quiet for a long moment – so long, in fact, that Alex was worried he’d fallen asleep in his arms. Slowly, he tucked both their bodies under the thick blankets, shedding his shorts and gently tugging off John’s sweatpants, handing him his shirt to slip back on to prepare for the frigid night ahead.

“As long as you stay with me, Alexander,” John yawned, thin, hollow limbs draping over the smaller boy in an attempt to pull himself closer to Alexander. Alex gladly accepted it, pulling John closer to him gently afraid he would snap like the twig Alex thought he was. “I can do anything.”

And both boys fell into a dream-filled slumber.

**Author's Note:**

> youch


End file.
